


Together

by Winsextr



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Fluff and Angst, Hero and Leander, M/M, enjoltaireweek2016, exrweek2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winsextr/pseuds/Winsextr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a priest for Aphrodite, who meets Grantaire at a festival.<br/>Hero and Leander (Greek Mythology) AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> I did this for day three of exr week, and I liked how it turned out so I decided to post it here too.

The sun is bright and warm as Grantaire walks through the festival, grinning at everyone and no one. Bahorel got distracted at one of the booths flirting with the woman working there, so Grantaire left him to his getting rejected and continued on, smile bright on his lips. 

He’s walking backwards, watching Baz try out another one of his terrible pick-up lines, when he runs into someone. 

He wheel’s around to apologize, still smiling, albeit a little nervously, when his gaze light’s on the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. The stranger has golden hair that seems to glow in the sunlight, high cheekbones, and sharp blue eyes that are narrowed in annoyance.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man snaps, brushing himself off.

It takes Grantaire a few minutes to return to his senses. “…Sorry,” he manages eloquently, eyes wide.

The man finally looks at Grantaire, still glaring. He seems to be satisfied with Grantaire’s apology, though, because he allows a small smile.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire repeats, and he may have had a little bit too much to drink, but this is Aphrodite’s festival after all, so he continues on. “I don’t mean to be forward but… you are a masterpiece. You look as though Aphrodite herself blessed you with beauty.”

The man glares again, but it’s halfhearted. “Perhaps she did. I am her priest after all.”

“Please, tell me your name?”

The man actually smiles then, and it’s blinding. “Only if you tell me yours.” 

Grantaire might actually be dying. “Grantaire. My name’s Grantaire.”

The man’s still smiling when he speaks. “Nice to meet you Grantaire.” He says the name slowly, rolling it around on his tongue, testing it. “I’m Enjolras.”

Bahorel finds them sitting under a tree, laughing and grinning.

“So, you’re a priest of Aphrodite, but you’re a virgin?” Grantaire teases, bumping his shoulder against Enjolras. The blond blushes and stares at the ground.

“I just… never got around to it. Never found anyone I loved enough.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “A servant of the goddess of love, who lives without it? How terrible!”

Enjolras narrows his eyes, but his gaze is warm. “What about you then?” he demands. “Have you been in love?”

“Oh I’ve had my fair share of…” he gestures dramatically, grinning wickedly as he leans close to Enjolras, “encounters. But love?” He was only inches away from Enjolras now. “Not before…”

Enjolras’s lips are soft when he kisses Grantaire.

“Gods, I’m turning into Marius,” Grantaire murmurs.

Bahorel’s booming laughter pulls the two apart. “Why Grantaire!” He cries. “I see you have found yourself a beauty!”

“Oh, go away Bahorel! I don’t want this fair man to realize how much better he can do!” Grantaire says back, allowing one arm to drape around Enjolras’s shoulders.

Enjolras glares at him. “Stop that.” His voice is firm and clear, sending shivers down Grantaire’s spine. “I can think of no one I would rather have spent the day with than you.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “Even when you are so beautiful and burn so brightly, and I am but a cynic and a drunk?” He means for it to be said with humor, but it comes out dull and sad.

“Oh, come on Grantaire! Quit your melancholy moans and come enjoy the festival with me,” Bahorel says, rolling his eyes.

Enjolras smiles at that. “I quite agree. I have known you for but a day and yet I can already see that you spend too much time thinking of the faults of man and not what you can do to fix it.”

Grantaire smiles. “It’s hard to linger on man’s flaws while gazing upon you.”

“Oh, stop flirting!” Bahorel cries. “I can’t take any more.”

Before Bahorel manages to pull Grantaire away from Enjolras, Enjolras tells Grantaire of where he lives- in a tower by the Hellespont - and asks him to meet him there that evening. Grantaire smiles and promises, kissing Enjolras gently on the lips before he’s led away.

He goes there that evening, spending his night with Enjolras, kissing and talking and…other things. They lie in bed, chests warm and pressed close together, breaths mingling as they hold one another close.

“Why do you live this life of solitude?” Grantaire asks into Enjolras’s neck.

“My parents,” Enjolras responds immediately. “Gods, I wish I was free from them. They force me into this tower, try to control my life-”

Grantaire quiets him with a kiss. “Hush, my love. Let us not dwell on such things.”

“It is unfair to be a slave to anyone. Everyone’s life should be their own,” Enjolras says stubbornly.

Grantaire laughs. “There is fire in you.” He kisses Enjolras again. “A fire that burns bright and fierce.”

They fall asleep with limbs tangled together. In the morning Grantaire prepares for his departure. He plans to swim across the Hellespont to return to his home on the other island, as he’s a strong swimmer and it’s not too far, but before he sets off he takes Enjolras into his arms.

“Marry me?” he whispers. “I may die tomorrow, and I could not bear if I did so without your hand.”

Enjolras shakes his head sadly. “My parents, they would never allow it. Not with someone from another island.” He sighs. “Soon though. I promise. When I break free from them.”

Grantaire laughs warmly. “You’re always planning a revolution, aren’t you?”

Enjolras shrugs. “Perhaps we are always in need of one.” His smile softens. “Will you return?”

“I would come whenever you would have me,” Grantaire says simply, and he means it.

“Then you would come every night.”

Grantaire grins. He’s smiled more in these last few hours than he had in the last few years. “I’ll be here.”

Enjolras looks pleased. “I’ll light a lantern, to guide your way.”

“The light of your smile would be enough.”

Enjolras shoves him away, laughing. “Gods, you’re ridiculous. Now get on home, my love, and be safe.”

Grantaire steals one last kiss before he leaves.

He returns that night, the narrow strait cool and refreshing as he dives through the gentle waves. He had no trouble reaching Enjolras’s tower, what with the golden light of his lantern shining out across the water.

The two lovers spend another blissful night in one another’s arms, and when the morning comes and Grantaire prepares to return across the strait, Enjolras kisses him again. “Will you return?”

Grantaire’s smile is a little sad as he looks at Enjolras. “If you wish me too. But, tell me Enjolras, and please be truthful. Am I but another of your revolutions? Am I nothing more to you than a way to get back at your parents?”

Enjolras’s eyes widen. “Grantaire,” he whispers, framing Grantaire’s jaw with is hands, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. If I simply wanted to spite my parents, I would have fallen into bed with someone many years ago. Believe me when I say that you are the light of my life.”

For months, the two were in bliss. Grantaire would swim across the strait every night and spend his time with Enjolras in the tower. They fought from time to time, argued over the nature of man and all sorts of philosophy, but still they loved. They loved strongly and with ferocity.

And then the seasons changed, and it became stormy and the waves became stronger. Though Enjolras begged Grantaire not to come on the nights when the winds blew stronger for fear that he might drown in the roiling sea, Grantaire could not bear to be apart from him for too long and so came anyway.

One night however, the storm was fiercer than it had ever been. Grantaire dove into the waves anyways, struggling against the wind and the rain and the waves. Perhaps, he would have made it too. But the wind blew out Enjolras’s lantern, and lost in the dark, Grantaire was completely alone.

When Grantaire did not arrive at Enjolras’s tower, the priest hoped that his lover had chosen not to attempt the swim in this weather and was safe at home. He was unable to sleep that night.

When the morning came, it brought with it dread. The bed felt empty without Grantaire in it, and Enjolras was going out of his mind with worry. He paces his room, arms crossed tightly and face a closed off mask. At last, he finds that the tower is too small, the walls to close for his comfort, so he throws open the door and stalks out, head down as he walks the rocky beach, breathing in the fresh scent of the sea.

At first glance, the body appears to be nothing more than a pile of rags, haphazardly thrown about, perhaps dragged here by the current. As Enjolras grows closer, dread fills him at the sight of a mess of black curls, at the line of a strong and muscled arm.

He wants to turn around and go back to his tower and wait until the evening when Grantaire will swim across the sea and hold him in his arms. Gods, how Enjolras wishes he could feel Grantaire around him, be held by his love. 

His love. His love, who is smashed against the rocks, the waves lapping at the dried blood that covers his body and the harsh stones he lays upon in an unnatural position.

Enjolras can feel bile rising in his throat, but what comes is instead a choked off sob, half of Grantaire’s name. Tears sting his eyes as he kneels beside the body, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s large chest, heaving the upper half of Grantaire’s body into his lap. Enjolras cradles Grantaire’s head as he rocks him gently, tears flowing freely now. 

Grantaire’s head, which is ripped open and bloody and lifeless.

Enjolras stays there for a while, holding Grantaire and sobbing and occasionally pressing a desperate kiss to his forehead or lips in the hope that he would find some warmth rather than the metallic taste of blood.

Eventually though, Enjolras must rise, and he does so slowly, shakily, trying to hold on to Grantaire’s limp form. When Grantaire slips out of his arms, Enjolras lets out another broken sob and covers his mouth.

“My love,” Enjolras whispers, picking his way carefully across the slippery rocks. “My love, my love, my love.”  
He sucks in a breath. “I shall see you again, I swear it.”

 

Bahorel is the one who finds the bodies. He had known that Grantaire was setting off across the strait the night before, and when he had not returned the following afternoon he had grown anxious and set out after him. When he arrived at the rocky beach, he had found the two lovers mangled on the shore. 

Enjolras had dived into the sea, allowing the water to fill his lungs and rid his mind of thought. The tide had washed him back to shore, almost ironically. Back to his lover.

“Peace, my friends,” Bahorel murmurs quietly. “You will never be parted again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank's for reading this! Any comments are greatly appreciated.  
> Come find me on tumblr at gay-french-and-dead


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